


Retreat to the Barrow Downs

by ShadowEtienne



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arnor, Cardolan, Gen, Glorfindel and Erestor, Middle Earth History - Freeform, slight appearances by, the Barrow Downs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 09:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowEtienne/pseuds/ShadowEtienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a bit of exploration of the history of Arnor inspired by the following passage in the Appendices:</p>
<p>"A great host came out of Angmar in 1409, and crossing the river entered Cardolan and surrounded Weathertop.  The Dunedain were defeated and Arveleg was slain.  The tower of Amon Sul was burned and razed; but the palantir was saved and carried back in retreat to Fornost, Rhudaur was occupied by evil Men subject to Angmar, and the Dunedain that remained there were slain or fled west.  Cardolan was ravaged.  Araphor son of Arveleg was not yet full grown, but he was valiant, and with aid from Cirdan he repelled the enemy from Fornost and the North Downs.  A remnant of the faithful among the Dunedain of Cardolan also held out in Tyrn Gorthard (the Barrowdowns), or took refuge in the Forest behind.</p>
<p>"It is said that Angmar was for a time subdued by the Elvenfolk coming from Lindon; and from Rivendell for Elrond brought help over the Mountains out of Lorien." (pg. 359)</p>
<p>Some of the details have been toyed with to try to fill in the blanks between what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retreat to the Barrow Downs

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be an entry for Terrifying Tolkien Week in October, but due to computer failure, I did not get around to writing it until during NaNo or editing it until now.

     After the attack on Amon Sul of 1409, very few of the once powerful Dunedain forces stationed there remained.  Of those that escaped the attack of Angmar, a small force retreated to Fornost, to guard the Palantir, but the main contingent, led by Araphor, son of Arveleg, retreated to the Barrowdowns, and the edges of the Old Forest, to fight back as they could against the forces of Angmar until some aid could come to them.

     Arveleg had fallen most valiantly, but the forces of Cardolan had been ravaged.  Few of much experience remained, and those who did were scarred and battered from the long siege and eventual defeat.  Most of the rest of those who had escaped were young and untried, like their young Captain, sent to retreat behind the lines before the worst of the attack by their elders in hopes that they would remain safe.

     Araphor was a good leader, for all that he was very young, but his followers were frightened and restless.  It seemed that every shadow among the downs and the ancient trees could be another warg, another orc, another wraith, or even a Man aiding the enemy.  There were few who kept a level head throughout, neither jumping at shadows nor their own night horrors.

    Araphor felt that he had to keep a brave face, but the companies who hid among the ancient barrows of Tyrn Gorthad could see his fear and sorrow as clearly as they felt their own.  They were hemmed in among the barrows of ancient kings, knowing that in the Forest behind them lurked dangers less evil but just as deadly as the forces of Angmar, scouring Cardolan for them.  They waited and waited, and yet there was no word of aid nor sight of the enemy.

 

     Braigwen and Golwenion had been among the first to be sent into retreat, too young to have much more than started their training among the guard of Amon Sul when the forces of Arnor swept down upon them.  They had both chaffed in the camps among the Barrowdowns, certain that they would have been more useful where closer to the fighting, though Golwenion at least knew that he would probably not have been of as much use as he would have liked.  Braigwen would fume to him that her sword-arm and her aim with a bow would have been invaluable on the walls of Amon Sul.  He would refrain from mentioning to her that she would then most likely be dead, for he had loved her as a sister since they were children, and he did not wish to hear her say that perhaps that would have been better, as he knew that she would.

     After the siege, they had been joined by Bredhril, scarcely older than them, but on the walls until the last.  Braigwen had resented her at first, but Bredhril was a brilliant warrior, and she had served alongside the young prince since they were children.  It was through her that Braigwen and Golwenion entered the circle of Araphor, a set of young Dunedain who were well prepared to become Captains and great heroes among the Dunedain if they were given the chance to come to their full adulthood.

     Bredhil was quiet and withdrawn after she came to the Barrowdowns from Amon Sul, in the last party that escaped, riding beside Araphor as they and their weary horses stumbled, worn  beyond belief to the camp at the edges of the Forest.  She would not speak of what she had seen in the last hours at Amon Sul, but there were whispers in the camp, of wraiths that bore the faces of their fallen kin, of corpses half animated with horrible strength, and stench.   There were also tales of great warriors who froze at the sight of their own kin, animated by some dark magic, wielding steel against them on the battlefield.  Yet it had not been until Arveleg had fallen that the retreat had at last been sounded.

 

     They had been among the Barrowdowns for months, foraging as they could into the Forest, and winter was growing near.  There was great unrest among the Dunedain, as whispers of the movements of Angmar were renewed.  There were patrols set to creep among the shadows of the Barrowdowns, from ancient barrow to ancient barrow, looking for any approaches or attacks.  The forces of Angmar had yet to find them, protected as they were by the ancient dead, but the Barrowdowns carried their own dangers, for it was said that at times the dead walked in the night, and the Forest behind them was home to unknown beings of ancient times.

     Braigwen and Golwenion had been assigned to a patrol commanded by Bredhil that alternated between duties, patrolling the Barrows and searching for much needed supplies in the Old Forest.  In the morning of a cold, crisp autumn's day, they had slipped among the leaf flamed edges of the forest, in search of fresh water and what end of season fruits might be found, though also for root vegetables and fresh greens, and any medicinal herbs. 

     Golwenion had been sure that he had heard singing each time they had ventured into the woods deeper than about a half hour's walk.  The singing was faint, indistinct, but it seemed to carry warnings of danger deeper in the woods, of angry trees.  In words half caught, Golwenion became sure that they should avoid the willows that he had occasionally spotted in deeper ravines in the Forest.

     It was testament to how rattled the forces of the Dunedain of Cardolan were that they without a questioning word listened to him speak of the song that he heard.  They were short on food though, more so than they had been for a while, as the animals that they had hunted were starting to run thin or to retreat to their winter's rest.  The patrol ventured deeper and deeper into the forest, on winding paths, hoping to find some edible creature, or even a stash of nuts.

     At last, they found a stream that none of them had entirely realized ran through the old forest, though with a bit of thought they agreed that it must have been one of the offshoots that flowed into the Baraduin that they had seen on the old maps.  They watched with surprised awe and happiness as a large fish struggled to swim up one of the little babbling falls of the stream, not quite large enough to be a river.  Braigwen managed to restrain herself to an excited whisper as she exclaimed quietly, "If we can find a pond a ways down, I am sure that we can net a feast for the camp."

     Bredhil asked, quietly pessimistic, "Have we any net though?"

     One of the other members of their patrol, a quiet young man from along the banks of the river said, "I've rope in my bags, and I can knot a small net fast enough, if someone can figure a way to carry fresh fish."

     As they walked along the stream, searching for a pond in which to cast their net, the young ranger knotted his rope, and Braigwen and Golwenion devised a way to line one of their packs with fresh leaves from a tree with great broad leaves, and move all of the supplies that the bag had carried into other packs.  They found a pond, as if by chance, when they turned a bend in the stream.  Golwenion paled a bit, realizing that the pond was surrounded by ancient weeping willows, but the prospect of fresh fish to bring back was far too appealing to speak out against fishing in this pond.

     Fish gathered quickly in the sack that they had first prepared, and it became so full that the young Dunedain rearranged their supplies even more to allow another bag to be lined for fish.  Golwenion began to hear the angry rustling of the trees as they filled the second bag, knowing they had gathered as much as they would be able to carry, and they began to stand up from their rocks and roots and stumps.

     Braigwen cried out in panic, "I'm stuck! I'm stuck!" and Golwenion, who had felt uneasy enough about the trees to sit upon one of the large rocks along the bank was the first to her side.  An old, crooked root and wrapped itself around her ankle as she focused on tossing the net and helping to reel it in, and she had not noticed until she had needed to stand up.

     The entire group was at an impasse then, for they were loath to injure the great trees of the forest, even when one held their own captive.  It was Bredhil at last who came up with a solution, as Braigwen became more and more panicked, and the rustling of the trees became more and more angry.  Golwenion was about ready to cry in terror and worry himself, as the darkness of evening was beginning to fall, and they needed to move soon to escape the forest before nightfall with their precious food.

     Bredhil said softly, "Fire, we need fire.  A torch perhaps.  If the tree is aware enough to capture one of us, then it is aware enough to know that we may burn it.  Perhaps it is listening to us, but the fear of fire should set it to rights."

     She looked resigned, not pleased with the thought of a fire among such old woods, but knowing that they could not spare even one of the few warriors left to defend the Barrowdowns and Cardolan.  Golwenion leaped into action, glad to have a course at least, digging out his flint and steel and searching for a resinous fallen branch.  It did not take him long to find one, or to strike a spark in the sap laden end of the branch.  It was not an ideal torch, but he held it towards the root that held his friend, and said, "Let her go tree, or I won't hesitate to burn you for hurting my friend."

     The willow creaked and moaned, generally stating its displeasure with the situation, but after almost enough time for Golwenion to lower the torch to the tree's root fully, the bond around Braigwen's ankle loosened, and she went stumbling forwards until Bredhil caught her. 

     They were rattled as they walked back to the camp, all jumping at shadows and watching for a sign of some enemy.  The rustling of the forest seemed cruel and sinister as darkness began to fully fall around them, pierced only by Golwenion's improvised torch.  As they reached the outskirts of the forest, Bredhil, who was by now supporting the limping Braigwen, for her ankle had been turned rather badly by the tree root, said regretfully, "The torch must be quenched, for we do not know what dangers might be watching for such a light to lead them to our camp."

     Golwenion found a patch of bare rock and ground out the light, saddened indeed to no longer have its guidance.  The light of the moon shone thinly through the dark branches of the trees, claw-like in the dark, and they all wished that they were back in the camp.

     At last, with much more stumbling than was their wont, they escaped the forest, expecting to walk victorious into their camp, only to find themselves many miles east of where they should have been.  Bredhil looked back at the forest, face full of quiet concern, and said, "The ways of the trees are mysterious, we have perhaps paid a more dangerous price than we expected for a few fish."

     They could see in the distance the Weather Hills though, and those were their guiding lines as they trudged their weary way back towards the camp.  Golwenion thought that at least it was cold enough that the fish, patted dry and wrapped in leaves would fare well enough despite their long walk.  As they walked though, they began to see movements in the shadows that concerned them.

     Bredhil whispered, "Hang close to the forest's edges," and the others nodded, for they too had seen the strange dark shapes flitting among the barrows.  It was nearly midnight before they reached the camp, exhausted and frightened, and they brought their catch first and foremost to the cooks, who greeted their findings with tears of joy.  The tent of Araphor, son of Arveleg, was their next stop, for they needed to report both their adventures and the movements in the shadows.

 

     Araphor and Bredhil shared a deeply worried look after all of the members of the patrol explained what they had seen moving among the downs, and finally, Araphor asked her softly, "Do you fear what I fear?"

     She nodded, "It must be the wraiths of Angmar, or else their near cousins, and there is little that holds against them."

     Araphor nodded, "Only elf steel seems to hold them back, or some of the blades brought forth from Numenor, but such artifacts are few and far between among us."

     Bredhil nodded, but she faced him squarely and said, "Those who bear such blades must be woken for the watch.  The wraiths are weaker by day, when they can move at all, and only one who is used to using such a blade would be well suited to watch for the remaining hours of the night."

     Araphor gave her a look of concern, "Many with such blades have just returned from long patrols, yourself included my friend, is this danger worth that risk."

     Bredhil said shortly to him, "Yes, I will see to it."

     Braigwen and Golwenion found themselves joining her, though Golwenion had only a knife, a family heirloom of Numenor, but it met Bredhil's test.  They all watched long into the night, occasionally others would join them, to help them remain alert and wary.  It seemed that most of the night had passed, and perhaps they would be free of attack when suddenly, as the first pale slivers of light were creeping over the horizon, a swarm of wraiths burst forth from the nearest Barrows.

     Bredhil's voice raised in the cry of the alarm, but she told them, "Hold steady, the touch of the wraith is dangerous, but they will fear your weapons, and to touch such blades is their demise.  You must be faster than they though."

     It was agonizing to wait for the approach of the horrifying, ghostly figures, none of their limbs quite where they should have been, with faces that seemed familiar yet grotesque showing beneath their foggy cowls.  Braigwen muttered, "Not all of them are the same, some have the look of fair kings of old, and others of battered, tired warriors."

     Golwenion felt a pang of worry, and said only half believing his own words, "Perhaps they have been joined by the Barrow wights then."

     The tales of the barrow wights were stories that they had all heard, but none of them quite believed that the blessed tombs of their ancestors could hold such an evil danger.  Perhaps they, too, were the fault of Angmar.

     All three of them held steady in the face of danger though, hoping beyond hope that the sun would rise high enough before they were all killed by the apparitions, or that they could act quickly enough to save themselves and the others of their camp.

     It was not long before the wights and wraiths reached them, and Golwenion could hear the pained and frightened cries of other Dunedain, further down the watch line.  He and his friends kept their eyes forward though, and it was not long before they could do nothing more than fight their own foes.  Bredhil had been right that the wraiths feared the touch of Numenorean steel, and any time that one of them managed to level a hit upon the strange wraiths, they dissipated into hissing, screaming smoke, which, if inhaled, left a warrior gasping desperately for breath.

     The hour before sunrise stretched interminably, and Golwenion was beginning to be overwhelmed, retreating further and further to keep the wraiths from surrounding him.  Just as he was falling to his knees in exhaustion and terror, there sounded a horn much hoped for and not expected, and the rays of the bright sun crested the barrow.  On the crest, coming from the road, there was a small company of elves wearing the colors and devices of Imladris, and the wights and wraiths were hiding from and dissipating in the sun.  Golwenion could tell that he was not the only one crying tears of relief as the company of elves rode down to them, led by one with bright gold hair, a dark haired elf at his side.

     Araphor greeted them grandly, Glorfindel and Erestor of the house of Elrond Half-Elven, and there was much weeping and relief among the many young Dunedain as Araphor and the Elven captains began to plan their next steps.

 


End file.
